


The Curious Case of the Little Doctor

by SmilesRawesome



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Babies!!, I mean how is he supposed to know what to do with a baby?, Sherlock acts very flustered, Shoot Bad Cabbies, baby john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilesRawesome/pseuds/SmilesRawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty leaves Sherlock a little present. It's far from what Sherlock or John were expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strange Present

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this comic by Shoot Bad Cabbies XD
> 
> http://shootbadcabbies.tumblr.com/post/66627904131/entrenous88-shootbadcabbies-the-curious-case

Sherlock sighed as he banged the door open of 221B, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t notice the quiet pile of clothes that watched him as he wondered down the hallway. Anderson and Donovan had been pushing and pushing, God. It had given him a headache.

 

He pulled off all his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the taps to have the hot water blast over him. He sighed softly, running his hands through his hair. He had wished John had been there with him, but ever since his return, John hadn’t even _talked_ to him about a case.

 

Although they were talking now, which was a great improvement from three months ago. He scrubbed his face, hard, before just standing under the boiling water for several minutes. As he dried himself off, he wished he were as close to John as they used to be. He wanted someone to tell him he was brilliant again when he didn’t feel it. He wanted someone to badger him about eating and sleeping and he wanted that person to be John.

 

Throwing on his pyjamas and dressing gown, he padded out to the kitchen, thinking maybe some tea would help his predicament. In any case it would give him an excuse to talk to John. He frowned as he scanned the bench. That green paper hadn’t been there before, and John didn’t have any green paper. Curiously, he picked it up and unfolded it. His eyes widened and his blood ran cold.

 

_To Sherlock, I left a little present for you, to keep you from getting bored. – JM_

 

“John!” He called, quickly looking around the kitchen. Nothing here. “John, come at once!” He walked out into the sitting room, starting to scan the bookshelves. “John, was there anything left in the flat?! There’s a new-“ Sherlock stopped and his face blanched. He had not expected this. Dropping the note, he stepped forward in disbelief.

 

There, on the floor, was John. Naked. Normally a naked John would have been the very thing Sherlock wanted to see. But this… This was surreal. John was a _baby_. He was sitting on a pile of his clothes as a _baby_. How the hell had this happened?!

 

He could not believe Moriarty. He had even put one of those stupid ribbon flower things in John’s hair. Baby John had seemed to notice he was being watched now, and his large blue eyes flickered up and he took his fist out of his mouth. Baby John smiled a toothless smile and gurgled what must have been normal words to him, but to Sherlock just sounded like gibberish.

 

“Gahh blarg…” And a giggle. A tiny adorable baby giggle coming from Baby John. Baby John closed his eyes happily and lifted his arms, still giggling. “bababy babab! Gaballlrnn Marrgaabba! BABABABA!”

 

Sherlock still hadn’t moved. John was a baby. A baby. What did he do with a baby? What did babies need? Why the hell did Moriarty turn John into a _baby?!_ As the squeals got louder, Sherlock shook his head, bending down to pick John up. He tossed down the stupid ribbon thing, frowning. A bloody baby, what the hell was he supposed to do?

 

Baby John reached his hands out and grabbed onto the corner of his mouth, the other patting his cheekbone. Sherlock went faintly pink and frowned.

“John, this is a serious situation. Pull yourself together.”

“Bababarrrllll hnnhnnnm mamamama baba blll sherllllrrr.”

 

No, he hadn’t really thought that would work.

 

It was worth a shot.

 

Wait.

 

“Sherlllll! Bababababalllll!” Baby John squealed. Sherlock groaned and sunk down into his armchair. John was _still there_. John still had his adult mind trapped inside this tiny body. That could not be good or healthy for him. Though he seemed happy, very happy. How does one deal with happy children? How does one deal with unhappy children? How does one deal with… children?

 

Sherlock put Baby John on his lap and looked at him critically. Baby John giggled and smiled a toothless smile, before putting his fist in his mouth. While it _seemed_ that John had his adult memories, or at least some of them, he now possessed infant inhibitions. Right.

 

“John, we both know I have no idea about looking after children.” Sherlock started mater-of-fact-ly. “So we’ll have to make the best of this until we can get you back to normal. I’ll contact Mycroft and Lestrade, and we should probably ask Mrs Hudson to get you some clothes.” Baby John seemed to coo in agreement, or so Sherlock assumed, so Sherlock stood, holding John on his hip and walking downstairs.

 

He knocked sharply on Mrs Hudson’s door and waited for her to answer. Baby John cooed happily and patted Sherlock’s cheek. Why was he so bloody happy? This was insane. What if John actually didn’t have all his adult memories? What if he was just a small infant and those sounds before had just been coincidence?

 

Sherlock was saved from his run-away thoughts by Mrs Hudson, answering the door.

“Oh, hello dears… Sherlock… Is that a baby you’ve got?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t condescending or exasperated as some others may have been, it was simply curious, with mild confusion. But that was normal for her when dealing with her tenant.

 

“Yes. Mrs Hudson… There’s been an incident… This is John.” He explained. Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow and let out a breath.

“Well… This is certainly one of the stranger things to have happened.” Was all she said. Sherlock shifted John slightly and ran a hand through his hair.

“He needs clothes.”

 

The older woman nodded.

“Of course, I’ll see to it. You just get that brother of yours to see if he can bring him back.”

“Bababababa!” John giggled, patting Sherlock’s cheek again. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Thank you. I’ll be upstairs.”

 

Sherlock placed Baby John on the sofa once upstairs and pulled out his phone.

 

Lestrade, you have children, yes? – SH

 

Uh, yeah. Why? – GL

 

I need your… advice. – SH

 

What?! – GL

 

Don’t make me ask again. – SH

 

Alright… But why? – GL

 

I have been placed as the carer of a child, for reasons I am unsure of. I have no knowledge of children. – SH

 

Right. I’m coming. – GL

 

 

Sherlock nodded. That was taken care of. Now he just had to handle his brother. He looked over at John again, who was giving that toothless smile and was still happy. Why was John so happy? The past few months he had been anything but. Sighing, he started typing again.

 

Hurry up and get over here. - SH


	2. How Sherlock Learnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft shows up and deems Sherlock unfit to parent. Luckily a very timely landlady saves Sherlock's and John's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was so amazed at the respone I got to this!! Hopefully this lives up to all of your expections!

Lestrade was at 221B in ten minutes. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in his direction, regarding John critically from where he was sitting on the couch. The officer sighed and picked up Baby John, turning to Sherlock.

“Well, for starters, babies like to be held, not scanned.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Couldn’t John help you with this?”

 

“No.” Sherlock replied, gesturing to the baby in Lestrade’s arms. The other man frowned and looked at the child, before his eyes widened.

 

“So this is-?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea who-?”

“Yes.”

“Well then who-?”

“Moriarty.”

“You said he was-“

“He was. But so was I. He left this.”

 

Sherlock handed Lestrade the note who frowned at the small green piece of paper. He shook his head and made an irritated noise.

“Have you called your brother?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re saying that a lot. Are you alright?”

 

Sherlock sighed and slumped into his chair.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted softly. Before he could get any sort of look or comment, as he so hated those, he jumped up and started wandering around the flat. “I estimate him to be around four or five months of age. Places with babies… they need to be… _clean_.” He muttered the word with distaste and started randomly picking up items that could be a danger to an infant.

 

He could hear Baby John giggling, babbling to Lestrade in that strange form of communication that wasn’t actually talking, but at the same time, was. The more he cleaned the more impatient the tone got. Eventually he picked up his skull from and floor and John just squealed. Sherlock turned to face him in confusion and saw a very upset, pouting Baby John. He glanced at the skull and then at John, his eyes widening slightly.

 

“He _is_ still there.” Sherlock murmured. Lestrade gave him a curious look, but he was easily ignored. “John, if you are capable of understanding me, blink twice.” He instructed. Baby John gave him a _look_ and blinked twice. Sherlock grinned and clapped his hands together. Now his actions made more sense. John always hated being made a fuss over, and Sherlock was only cleaning for his sake.

 

“While you may still be yourself mentally, John, I can’t take the risk of damaging the body you currently possess. It may affect your… regrowth, I suppose.” He said, just a hint of an apology in his voice. He went back to picking up ‘danger items’, to the sound of a rather upset Baby John.

 

When he risked glances towards the man and the child, he saw Lestrade bouncing Baby John, and occasionally making melodic soothing noises with his mouth. He took note, and filed it away in a new room in his mind palace.

 

When he was done, he stood back and admired his work. That was the most cleaning he’d ever done, just for John. It was… Tedious.

“Well, that must have been the most cleaning you’ve ever done in your life.” Mycroft said from the door. Sherlock scowled and his good mood dissipated.

 

“Find out what he did to John and hurry up about it.” Sherlock snapped. “And find a way to reverse it.” He flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Well, more glaring. He could feel Mycroft and Lestrade sharing a look.

 

“Brother, you do not know enough about children to be able to look after Doctor Watson safely.” Sherlock bolted upright, glaring at his brother.

“No. You can’t say that. Get out!” he demanded, pointing towards the open door angrily.

“You’re only supporting my case. You can’t lose your temper at every little inconvenience. I’m taking Doctor Watson somewhere he will be looked after-“

“You mean a lab where he will be tested! I’m not letting you do that, Mycroft!” Sherlock spat. There was no way this was happening. Lestrade sighed softly, but Sherlock barely noticed him until he spoke.

 

“Sherlock… You said yourself you didn’t know much about children…” Sherlock glared at him, clenching his hands into fists.

“And I called you for _advice_! So that I could _learn_ how to look after him! I’m not sending him away to some lab where he’s going to get poked and prodded at! I won’t allow it!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. It is not your decision to allow. You don’t have any supplies, nor has there been any effort to procure any. I am taking Doctor Watson. That is final.” Mycroft said firmly, striding over and taking Baby John from Lestrade.

 

Sherlock watched helplessly as John started crying, squirming in Mycroft’s arms in a futile effort to get out. He managed to control himself until Mycroft and John were halfway down the stairs.

“Stop!” He raced after them, taking John from Mycroft with the upmost care, and speed. He held Baby John close to him, shushing him gently. It wasn’t long before John calmed, resting against Sherlock’s chest.

 

Sherlock licked his lips, opening his mouth to speak when he was saved by Mrs Hudson. The woman came in the door holding a variety of bags.

“Oh. Hello Mycroft. Sherlock,” she looked to the younger Holmes fondly. “I got those things you asked for. You were quite right. It’s much too cold to take a baby outside.” Over the years she had become an expert at reading Holmsiean expression, and she thought Sherlock had every right to be given a chance.

 

She walked past Mycroft calmly, shooting him a look before continuing up towards Sherlock and John. “Here, I’ll show you how to use it all. Knowing you, you’ll probably want to have your own little organisation system.” She chuckled fondly. Sherlock smiled at her gratefully and followed her upstairs. Lestrade was looking extremely guilty, having realised Sherlock’s point.

 

Mrs Hudson spent fifteen minutes with Sherlock, after shooing out Mycroft with a stern warning and offering Lestrade a cuppa, who had declined politely and left. He filed everything away in his new room in his mind palace; she really did know what she was doing. She told him about bottles and nappies and formula and those ridiculous baby suit things and how to hold him when feeding him and how to baby proof things and she even told him how often children around John’s estimated age slept.

 

Sherlock kissed her cheek as she left, picking John up from the sofa. Baby John giggled and placed a hand on Sherlock’s cheek. He picked up the bottle that they had just made and held it to John’s mouth. Baby John took it eagerly and sucked. Sherlock felt a slight pang of guilt. The transformation would have taken a lot of energy and Sherlock had been too busy arguing to help him.

 

It wasn’t long until the bottle was finished and John had fallen asleep laying on Sherlock’s chest while Sherlock lay on the sofa. Sherlock smiled at the small figure and didn’t try to move his thumb out of John’s grip. It was oddly… comforting.

 

“We’ll get you back to normal soon, I promise.” He murmured, slowly falling asleep to the sound of John’s steady breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Feel free to point out any errors so I can fix them XD!


	3. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes a bit odd and Sherlock feels a bit of panic. But he should have realised. It was ilogical to be able to retain all that information...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short chapter compared to the others, but I'm still trying to work out plot points and stuff. Sorry Guys!

Sherlock woke to the sound of crying. He opened his eyes to find Baby John curled on his chest, crying. Trying to remember what Mrs Hudson had told him, he stood and walked John around the room.

“What’s wrong, John?” he asked, shifting him slightly so he could see Baby John’s face.

 

A tear stained face stared up at him, not a sign of comprehension. Sherlock frowned slightly. “John? John if you can understand me… blink twice.” Then he waited.

 

All he got was another wail.

 

Panic welled up in Sherlock’s chest. John was gone now. When had that happened? Shit, shit, shit… He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If John really was… really was an actual child now… he would just have to… have to…

 

Cope.

 

He figured that John probably wanted changing, so he set about doing it like Mrs Hudson showed him. When he was done, it looked a bit lopsided, but it would do. He buttoned up the ridiculous one piece suit he was wearing and picked him up, holding him close to his chest.

 

Baby John calmed for a while, then started babbling, reaching up and patting Sherlock’s face. Sherlock smiled sadly down at him, shifting him higher up so he wouldn’t have to reach as far. Then he blinked twice.

 

Sherlock stopped, staring down at him.

“John…?” he murmured softly. Baby John smiled and blinked twice again. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and hugged John close. Something was happening, something bigger than this. Well, practically everything was bigger than John at the moment.

 

He looked down as John started fussing, infant instincts forcing him to act like the age he currently was. Sherlock shifted him so he was cradling Baby John, walking into the kitchen. He prepared another bottle and held it over John’s mouth, who took it somewhat reluctantly now. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile as John brought his hands up to try and hold the bottle himself. Seeing as he was actually doing a good job at holding it, Sherlock let go and grabbed his laptop.

 

Sitting on his chair, with John half resting on his arm, half on the chairs arm, he opened his laptop and started typing one handed.

“Just a bit of research, John. Just for now. I know Mycroft will sort things out with whatever _he’s_ done. But, for now, I need to know what will happen to a body this age.” He said, as if he were explaining details on a case. Not an overly interesting one, maybe an eight. But John was interesting, he was always interesting.

 

Sherlock researched for a long time. John had finished his bottle, taken a nap on Sherlock’s chest and squirmed and fidgeted until Sherlock left him with something noise making thing to bite that Mrs Hudson had brought. He would always look over at him, making sure John wouldn’t crawl off somewhere unsafe or touch something that might be a bit not good.

 

He never did.

 

While John seemed a bit disgruntled to be subjected to such behaviours, he also seemed to realise that his body was more fragile now. Sherlock really didn’t want a repeat of earlier, where John had retracted into a proper child, so he would keep a close eye. Eventually he knew he would have to feed John again, and most probably change him. Not to mention he rather wanted tea, so he closed his laptop and stood, picking John up on his way to the kitchen.

 

Kettle on, nappy out, formula out, change, take kettle off, prepare bottle, prepare tea, give John bottle, pick John up, pick up tea, back to chair. It was a system, and one Sherlock was sure he could work with. Everything was over and done with in six minutes twenty five seconds.

“That went well.” He remarked casually, throwing John a smile.

 

Baby John looked at him blankly, his blue eyes wide and staring. Sherlock frowned slightly.

 

“John?”

 

Just babble, baby babble that didn’t make any sense.

 

“John, please.”

 

More babble.

 

Then a slight shake of his head.

 

Then two blinks.

 

Sherlock breathed another small sigh of relief and ran a hand through John’s hair. John’s mind was obviously disintegrating. He probably should have expected something like this given the circumstances. There really wasn’t a logical way to retain all those memories inside that tiny brain. He felt a cold grip over his heart, a grip that he had thought he would have gotten rid of.

 

He couldn’t lose John.

 

Not again.

 

“We’ll fix this. I promise.” He murmured. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” John smiled at him, reaching up to pat his cheek. Almost as if he were saying _I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think... if you wanted to...??


	4. What John Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what has happened through John's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took so long to update! But I made this chapter longer to try and make up for it. Hope you like it!

It had been… Hellish.

 

It had been one thing to experience his best friend coming back from the dead, but it was something else entirely to see… _him_ again. Someone he had been assured was actually dead.

 

John had watched Sherlock leave for that case with sad eyes, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to go with him, but he just wasn’t ready to face that. He didn’t want to face all that again, not after what had happened on the last case he went on.

 

So, he had fallen into his chair and turned the telly on, picking up a book to try and distract himself. It worked, to an extent, until he heard that all too familiar, chilling, terrifying voice.

 

“Why, hello, John.”

 

John was almost sick right then. He didn’t dare turn, not wanting to see if he was being delusional or not.

“Oh, come now. No need to be so rude.” Moriarty chuckled, walking around and flicking the switch on the television. He turned back to John, a bright smile on his face as he took in the terrified form.

 

“What do you want?” John was surprised he was able to keep his voice so calm under the circumstances. Moriarty chuckled again, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, I’m just passing through. Hoping to give someone a _little_ present.” He chuckled.

 

“Can’t think of what you could be doing here, then.” John replied evenly. He felt stupid for feeling proud of how calm he managed to be. But, really, this was stupidly terrifying. John didn’t think he would be able to stand if he tried.

 

He didn’t know how right he was.

 

Moriarty walked forward slightly, leaning over the arms of John’s chair. John forced himself to _not_ shrink back.

“Oh, but I can.” He whispered menacingly.

 

There was a stabbing sensation in John’s neck and then there was burning. He had no idea how long the burning lasted for, but when he came back to his senses, he was on the floor sitting on a plie of giant clothes. For some reason he started sucking on his fist, and the sitting room seemed so much _bigger_. Moriarty bent down and fiddled with his hair.

 

He cried out, trying to tell him to piss off. But all that came out was “Glaaabahbhhh!” He blinked in surprise and looked up as Moriarty started laughing. The man seemed so much taller than he usually did.

“Have fun with Daddy, little Baby John.” He chuckled, throwing a green bit of paper onto the kitchen table. The man left, leaving John feeling very confused, tired and hungry.

 

Baby John, he stuck his fist back in his mouth and thought. What had he meant by that? He tried to get up, wondering why everything was so big. But he couldn’t get up. He looked down and saw his tiny, _naked_ body, and understood.

 

_Moriarty had turned him into a baby._

 

What the actual fuck?

 

A baby?!

 

A fucking _baby_?

 

What the fuck?

 

He decided to wait for Sherlock and try to explain things to him when he got back. He sucked on his fist absently; content to sit here on his warm jumper. After what felt like an age, Sherlock came back, but went straight to the bathroom.

 

He got distracted, playing with his feet, not really paying attention to the yelling until there was a pair of feet in front of him. He looked up and saw Sherlock, and he smiled happily. _Sherlock! You’re back! Damnit, you told me he was dead! Moriarty turned me into a baby and everything is so big! Can you fix it? Please tell me you can fix it!_

 

But that didn’t come out of his mouth.

 

“Gahh blarb! bababy babab! Gaballlrnn Marrgaabba! BABABABA! Bababarrrllll hnnhnnnm mamamama baba blll sherllllrrrr! Sherlllll! Bababababalllll!” What the hell? Why the _bloody hell_ was that happening?! Oh God, he was a baby. Fuck fuck _fuck_!

 

Sherlock was holding him, when had that happened? Probably when he was freaking out. It was nice, actually. Being all the way up here. Sherlock was actually really warm. Unable to help himself, he reached out and patted Sherlock’s cheek. It was so pointy! It stuck out like… like something that stuck out!

 

He couldn’t help but giggle, pressing closer to Sherlock. Sure, he was a tiny baby now, but he had his Sherlock back. He had been waiting three bloody years to see him again and he was wasting all his time pretending to be angry, pretending to be sad. It was so stupid. He was just going to be actually happy now. Besides, it was too much work to pretend to be something while actually being something else in this tiny body. Only room for one emotion at a time.

 

Sherlock had sat down by now, and John was content to sit on his lap, staring up at him. Then Sherlock started talking again.

“John, you know I have no idea about looking after children.”

He made a noise of agreement on that. Maybe they should go down to Mrs Hudson. Just the thought of her cooking made him realise how hungry he was, and with that, the realisation of how tired he was.

 

The transformation must have taken more energy than he had thought.

 

They were walking down the stairs, and he was sucking on his fist again. It must be something about this body. He kept having weird lapses of memory and doing stupid baby-ish things.

 

Wait…

 

He _was_ a baby.

 

Could it be that?

 

It was probably that.

 

What about the memory lapses?

 

That was probably Moriarty.

 

By now they had been talking with Mrs Hudson for several minutes, and they were walking back upstairs. He sat on the couch and played with his feet when he was suddenly picked up by Lestrade. He giggled and talked to him for a while, telling him all about the messy situation. Then he noticed what Sherlock was doing.

 

He was _cleaning_.

 

But this was _Sherlock_.

 

_Sherlock_ didn’t _clean_.

 

Oh God, Sherlock was cleaning for him. Because he was a tiny baby now. Oh God. Just because he was a baby didn’t mean he was fragile! Well, it sort of did… But… Yeah, no.

 

He tried to tell Sherlock off while Greg seemed to be singing a lullaby. When Sherlock picked up his skull, he lost it. It was a _skull_! It was _the skull_! How could he hurt himself on that! Why was Sherlock making such a bloody fuss over him?!

 

A look of realisation crossed over Sherlock’s face.

“He _is_ still there… John, if you can understand me… blink twice.”

 

Was he serious? He couldn’t be serious. But, nevertheless, he blinked twice. Idiot.

 

Oh dear, Mycroft was here and Sherlock was having a strop.

“You mean a lab where he will be tested! I’m not letting you do that, Mycroft!”

“Sherlock… You said yourself you didn’t know much about children…”

“And I called you for _advice_! So that I could _learn_ how to look after him! I’m not sending him away to some lab where he’s going to get poked and prodded at! I won’t allow it!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. It is not your decision to allow. You don’t have any supplies, nor has there been any effort to procure any. I am taking Doctor Watson. That is final.”

 

What? No!

 

He didn’t want to go to a lab and be tested! Couldn’t that idiot see he was still there?! Why was Sherlock letting him do this?!

_SHERLOCK! Please Help Me! You can’t let him take me away! You can’t! I need you! I NEED YOU! SHERLOCK!_

 

When Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs, it was with the most panicked and most pained expression John had ever seen him with. Happy that the man wouldn’t let him be taken away, he cuddled into his chest, though still unable to stop crying from the shock of it.

 

When he finally stopped crying, Sherlock looked as if he were going to say something again, but Thank God for Mrs Hudson. She saved Sherlock from both himself and Mycroft, and saved him from Mycroft’s labs. He rewarded her with a bright smile and a hug when he was passed over to her.

 

Oh God, they were putting nappies on him. Oh Jesus this was embarrassing. He just put his hands over his eyes until the humiliation was over. Eventually, he was back in Sherlock’s eyes and waving bye to Mrs Hudson. Sherlock held up a bottle, and John was too hungry to care that it was a bottle, and reached out to grab it.

 

It was nice, falling asleep in Sherlock’s arms. He would have to remind himself to do it more often once he was back to normal.

 

Burning. There was no other way to describe the feeling. There was just burning. So much burning and it _hurt_. It _hurt_ and dear God he just wanted it to end.

 

The burning finally passed and he came back to himself, reaching up for Sherlock’s cheek on an instinct, needing to feel close to him, needing to feel safe. Remembering their signal, he blinked twice. Sherlock froze.

“John…?”

John smiled and patted his cheek, blinking twice again.

 

His body was catching up with him, because a second later a pang of hunger went through him. He started complaining, and soon enough, Sherlock was holding a bottle up again. Dear Lord…

 

He supposed he had to take it. His current body wouldn’t be able to process real food. It didn’t taste… _so_ bad… But he would be damned if he let Sherlock hold the damn thing. So while Sherlock researched baby stuff, John held the bottle and sucked, quite content to be here like this. After a while of just lying there, the bottle having been finished ages ago, he nodded off into sleep.

 

When he woke, Sherlock was _still_ researching. Bloody hell. He started fidgeting, and eventually Sherlock put him down. Finally. He crawled around the flat for a while. He was a baby. The fact was constantly in his head as he avoided things that he, realistically, shouldn’t go near in his current state.

 

He was a bit startled when Sherlock picked him up. What was that…?

 

That…

 

Woah! What was that thing? It was big with like a clear stuff inside it! Now the clear stuff was bubbling! He giggled as he watched it, leaning forward slightly. But he was taken away from the bubbling stuff and laid down. Woah! That person was so much bigger than him! The silly person, he was just _too_ big! He had all this wavy stuff on top of his head, it was funny. He just wanted to pull at it! Maybe it would taste nice. Maybe the bubbling stuff would taste nice too.

 

Oh wow. That felt much better with the new thing on. All the yucky stuff had been taken away. Oh yay! A bottle! Oh wow! It was so cool all the way up here! Maybe the tall person was okay.

 

He looked up at the tall person with the wavy stuff on his head as sounds came out of his mouth. Woah! How had he done _that_?! Maybe he could do it too! He tried, and to his delight, sounds came out of his mouth! He giggled and when the tall person made sounds back, he giggled again.

 

Wait – What was – OUCH! Ouch that _hurt_! NoNoNo! Make it stop!

 

 

…

 

 

John shook his head and the last of the pain went away. What the hell had just happened? Fuck, this was… this was… Fuck. This was terrifying. He looked up at Sherlock and saw the same panic and fear across his face, and had an overwhelming urge to pull at his hair. What?

 

He blinked twice, to let Sherlock know he was there, and watched the man relax. He didn’t relax much, but he did relax.

“We’ll fix this. I promise.” Sherlock murmured. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

John smiled at him, and reached up to pat his cheek. He knew. He knew that Sherlock could and would get him back.

 

But the first worm of doubt started wriggling through him as he realised he didn’t remember where he had first met Sherlock.

 

Nor any of what happened after that.

 

Just… Was there a bank involved…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading. Any mistakes are my own, so please just let me know if you see any and I'll fix it! XD


	5. Admitting Our Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock had never known how to say this, so he decided to just say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm alive! Haha. Sorry for the late update! I'm going to try and be better in the future XD  
> This little scene is based off this   
> http://shootbadcabbies.tumblr.com/post/67318892803/conductor-of-light-by-cuddling

It was three days before Sherlock got any word from Mycroft. And it was so ridiculous that there might as well have been no communication at all.

 

No progress on a cure. – MH

 

But the fact that he had texted instead of just coming around uninvited was a plus.

 

No progress… It was worrying. John had been a baby for 108 hours, approximately- as he had no idea of the exact time John had been visited by Moriarty- and his “baby blanks” as he had decided to call them (Note to self: Don’t berate John next time he comes up with a stupid title for a case. Names are tricky) were getting more and more frequent.

 

He was losing John, losing his best friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. He could see John’s mind was burning, deleting his memories and therefore acting more childish. He couldn’t stand seeing John being hurt like this. There had to be something- anything he could do.

 

There hadn’t been any cases, but he hadn’t been bored. He’d had John to look after. This was, surprisingly, nice. Baby John certainly kept him on his toes. He had to get some way to find Moriarty and force the cure out of him. But for now…

 

For now Sherlock was laying on the couch, Baby John sitting on his chest in a striped blue one piece. He was babbling to Sherlock, talking, and Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. He pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, one hand on his back to support him. John might have been a child, but this was the most right, most normal things had felt since his return.

 

John giggled at the kiss, reaching a hand forward to pat his nose, tilting his head to the side slightly. Sherlock knew that he was asking what that was for. He always did the same gesture whenever Sherlock did something along those lines. A kiss if he hadn’t just come out of a blank (Kisses seemed to somehow help John calm down after a blank), a cuddle just because he felt like it, rather than just picking him up to do something. He knew John wasn’t complaining, but he was asking.

 

He had never answered before.

 

He decided he should.

 

“Because… I love you.” Sherlock murmured quietly. He watched as John froze and Sherlock wondered if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. But then John put a hand on his small chest and blinked. Sherlock nodded. “Yes, you.” Oh god what had he done now?! John looked like he was going to burst into tears.

 

“Baba.” John whimpered softly, still ready to cry at a moment’s notice. Sherlock frowned, not understanding until John put a hand on his chest, then placed it back on his smaller chest and repeated the word.

 

“No! No, I don’t just love you because you’re a child.” Sherlock assured quickly, pulling him closer and hugging him tightly. “I’ve loved you since… since you shot that cabbie for me. When I realised it was you. I never said anything because… Well, whenever anyone else said something, you… You were so adamant that you didn’t want me in that way. Then… Then I had to leave you…” He closed his eyes, not wanting to talk about that time but knowing he had to.

 

“You told me you didn’t want to know how I did it, that you wanted to know why. I told you Moriarty had to be stopped…” He shifted so he could look at John again. “He had a sniper on you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, and I had to jump to keep you all alive. I was disabling his network, all that time. And when I came back you were just so… sad. I thought you didn’t want me here. I still do. But while you’ve been like this I… You’ve just been so happy. Aside from the blanks… And… and It’s so much _easier_ to be sentimental with you when you’re small like this because I have no idea how to do it in normal circumstances.”

 

Oh dear God what had he done?

 

That was the stupidest, most sentimental; thing to ever come out of his mouth and it was disgustingly emotional.

 

It was also the truest thing he’d ever said.

 

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry.” He murmured.

 

John leaned forward and put a hand on each of his cheeks. His mouth was just centimetres away from his nose and Sherlock could feel the smile on it. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose.

“Low Sherlll!” John declared.

 

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him again. John was smiling that little toothless smile and his eyes were shining with happiness instead of tears now and he was still holding onto Sherlock’s cheeks and he just didn’t understand.

 

“Lo- vvvv Sheralllllll!” John tried again, obviously desperate to be understood, and this time Sherlock did. He smiled at John and turned his head to kiss one of John’s hands.

“I love you too, John.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! You made it all the way to the end! Thanks for reading guys! XD


	6. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes wonky. He can't lose him again. And why is Mycroft being such an arse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo, IM ALIVE!!!! I'm so sorry guys. School started back up and now I'm in year 11 and wow there is so much more work than I expected and blah blah excuses in any case I'm sorry.

Sherlock was used to the sound of the baby blanks in the morning, and was by now, a week after the initial change, ready for them. They seemed to come more or less at the same time – give or take an hour or two.

 

But this morning was different. This morning John was groaning in his sleep. He didn’t normally do that, and Sherlock was at his side instantly. His first thought was a nightmare. It was dangerous to touch people during their nightmares, though, not so much for a baby, but Sherlock took the same precautions all the same.

“John? John, it’s time to get up now. Time to get up now, John. Come on. You’re safe. It’s me, Sherlock. You’re okay. Up we get.”

 

No. No. No. It wasn’t working, there had to be something else... something else... Sherlock stood up and reached down to pick John up, gasping as his fingers touched the skin. Instantly, Sherlock was ripping the stupid baby suit off him, trying to find a wash cloth and his phone at the same time.

 

He found his phone first, and gave up on the cloth, just wetting the suit with cool water and dabbing it on John’s forehead. Hitting the call button, Sherlock put the phone between the ear and his shoulder and he yelled for Mrs Hudson.

 

“Brother de-“

“Please tell me you’ve got something! Anything! He’s burning up. Jesus where’s the thermometer- this is bad, Mycroft there has to be something, please!” Sherlock didn’t care that he was begging right now, didn’t even care that he was begging his _brother_. His mind was screaming danger and he couldn’t let anything more happen to John. He’d already done him enough damage.

 

John was slowly waking up, and his groans were turning into screams and sobs of pain. His eyes were... dark. The bright blue that they usually were was now turning black, and it all sent a stab through Sherlock’s heart.

“Mycroft... Please...”

 

“I’ll send a team over to collect him.”

“Mycroft-“

“I know what you said, Sherlock. Come with him if you have to but my team can’t do anything with him there.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. But I’ll be going with him.” He heard Mycroft chuckle and frowned. “What?!” he demanded. He could even hear Mycroft’s smile.

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”

 

Normally, Sherlock would just roll his eyes and agree. This time, Sherlock felt his blood boil and he threw his phone at the wall.

“I. Don’t. Care.” He muttered through gritted teeth.

 

Forgetting about all of that as John’s screams cut through his thought process, Sherlock returned his attentions to the baby, panic levels rising as his temperature refused to drop.

“Come on, John... Please don’t give up on me. Stay with me. Come on, John.” He pleaded desperately.

 

He only barely noticed the man in coats taking him and John away from the flat, messing around with equipment in what was almost an ambulance. There were needles and machines and medicines and so many other things and all Sherlock could do was hold John and pray to whatever forces controlled the world that he would be okay.

 

When they _finally_ reached the building, John was taken away from him. He was protesting, though he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying. John, oh his John... He couldn’t lose him. He was burning and in pain and there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ he could do and it was an awful feeling.

 

When had he started crying? He wasn’t sure, but try as he might the tears that flowed refused to stop. Losing John was not a possibility, it couldn’t be a possibility. He needed John. He turned his face away when Mycroft sat down, not wanting to talk to his brother. The official had been such an... an _arse_ about this whole thing. Yes, he was normally annoying, but taking John away for _testing_? _Mocking_ him when he was _crying_? Yes, he never missed the chance to mock him, but he had never been that much of an arse...

 

“Who is it and what are they holding over you? I don’t know why you didn’t give me this case earlier if you’re this bothered by it.” Sherlock muttered, his voice considerably calm considering the state he was in. He heard Mycroft sigh and turned to face him.

“It was... _him_... And he has offered the cure to Doctor Watson’s... condition.”

 

Sherlock’s head snapped up, his eyes widening.

“What does he want?” he asked snappishly, his mind already working its way around possibilities.

“He wants me to get rid of that Detective Inspector you’re so fond of.”

 

Lestrade.

 

“Why?”

“Who knows?”

“No, no, no. He would have told you. That’s what he does.”

 

“Well this time he didn’t.” Mycroft replied, raising an eyebrow. “And you know perfectly well why I haven’t gotten rid of him, so don’t even bother asking.”

Sherlock nodded, frowning as he tried to find some way around what was happening. Not enough data not _nearly_ enough data. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall.

 

“I can’t lose him again, Mycroft.” He murmured. He heard Mycroft stand up and his footsteps walking towards the door.

“I’ll make sure you won’t.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorrynotsorry for cliffhanger dun dun duhhhhhh


	7. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows where the cure can be found, and he knows how to get it, but at what price?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe, please don't kill me for the wait guys, you know I love you all!

Time would not pass. Every five minutes Sherlock was looking at the wall clock and it would barely have even passed one minute. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. John was in pain, John was in danger and it was clogging up every part of his head.

 

Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to be a consulting detective? If he hadn’t then he wouldn’t be in so much pain right now, and neither would John. Moriarty would have never bothered them...

 

He would also be lonely.

 

And John would probably be dead.

 

He groaned, letting his head hit the wall, hard, and pressing his palms into his eyes. He had to fix this, he had too. But how? How could he possibly fix what had happened?

 

Moriarty had contacted Mycroft.

 

Mycroft.

 

Who would never, ever risk “brother mine’s” safety.

 

“Brother mine” who wouldn’t know anything about the offer Moriarty had proposed.

 

“Brother mine” who could use this knowledge that he _did not_ possess to get what he wanted.

 

It was stupid, risky, and could end up with everyone dead....

 

But Sherlock had a plan.

 

He pulled out his mobile and texted Moriarty. This had to work. If it didn’t... Well... It would have been worth the effort to try and save John. He pulled his coat on, running outside and hailing the first cab he saw.

 

This had to work, please _let this work_. He had already lost John once, he could _not_ lose him again. Ever. Under any circumstances. Especially not Moriarty again. Oh god, why was it so hard to think?! What was this stupid cloud of... of... of _sentiment_ that was blocking all his thoughts.

 

Detach. Isolate. Focus. Tie it to a string so it can be brought back.

 

He let out a breath and nodded to himself, feeling much calmer. He just had to approach this differently. A client was being held hostage and he needed to find a way to extract him. There. Much easier to think now.

 

He smirked to himself as he threw a handful of cash at the driver. This was the place to be. Best case yet, it promised.

 

Somewhere in his mind palace, the sentimental side of Sherlock lashed out at him, banging on the door and trying to get to the front of his mind, but Sherlock just padlocked the doors. He couldn’t afford to let sentimentality take over now. That was a lot not good.

 

He had to do this, with focus. He had to maintain the... Okay, he didn’t really have the upper hand, but he had to try and get it.

 

“I was wondering when you might have called? Tell me, is he screaming yet? Your precious dog...”

Sherlock smirked, turning around to face the Irishman.

“Long time no see.”

 

Moriarty laughed. A short, barking laugh that would have made an ordinary persons skin crawl. Just like that, it was over, and things were serious.

“What do you want, Sherly?”

“Oh, I think you know what I want.”

“I do. I just wanted to waste time. It won’t be much longer until your little sidekick is dead.”

 

Sherlock glared at him. He knew that, this was not time that was meant to be wasted.

“The cure. What is it?” he snapped. Moriarty laughed at him again.

“It’s right here.” He smirked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a needle filled with a blue substance. “Now... What can you do for me? I’m not just going to give this away, you know.”

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He _hated_ this man. This had all gone on too far.

“What do you want for it?! I’m done playing games.” He snapped again. Moriarty sighed, putting the needle back in his pocket.

 

“I want the same thing I wanted two years ago, except now I want it more.”

 

Sherlock put his hands in the pockets of his coats. Of course. After faking it the first time, and then destroying his empire... They were not the same anymore...

 

“I want you, dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another cliffhanger. Please don't kill me.


	8. Holding Up Your End of the Bargin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There really wasn't a way out of this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO UPDATES IN ONE DAY?!?!?!? WHAT OS THE WORLD COMING TO!!!!!

 “Okay.”

 

Moriarty stopped, blinking. He’d taken him by surprise. Good.

 

“You can come with me, and administer the cure. Then you’re free to do as you wish with me.” Sherlock said, completely serious. He’d said he would do anything for John, hadn’t he? He really did mean that. If that meant sacrificing himself for good, well then...

 

So be it.

 

Moriarty was frowning, considering the proposal.

“Alright then. I’ll go with you, but then...” The shorter man walked up to him, so their faces were barely inches apart. “Then you’re going to come with me.”

 

Sherlock nodded, turning and walking in the direction of the road. He knew Moriarty would follow. The man wouldn’t miss this chance to hurt him for everything he’d done to destroy him.

 

They sat on opposite sides of the cab, neither of them saying a word. Sherlock could feel Moriarty’s eyes boring into the back of his head, but he refused to look back at him. Refused to appear flustered by it. Refused to give the man that satisfaction.

 

Somehow, he made it back to Mycroft’s house without throwing up, and led the way through the mansion to where the doctors were working on John. One look at the man accompanying him and they all scattered.

 

Sherlock glared after them, walking over to where John was still crying, squirming in pain and picked him up. Even as he held him, he could feel his movements getting weaker.

“The cure, now.” He snapped, glaring at Moriarty.

 

The other man sighed, walking over annoying slowly and pulling out the needle. He watched carefully as he grabbed John’s arm, injecting the needle into the inside of his elbow and pushing the liquid though.

 

John was limp almost instantly, and Sherlock lay him down on the bed, watching over him worriedly as his eyes started fluttering. But he didn’t get the chance to see if it worked or not, as there was a hand on his shoulder, pain in his neck and the world went dark.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

It was completely dark, except for the one shining light directly above him. He was strapped down onto a metal table, and there were two other people in the room. Two?

 

Moriarty leaned over him, a maniacal grin on his face.

“Hello again, Sherly. Now, little John has turned back into normal John, and you owe me your death. Since, obviously, I can’t trust you to do it yourself, I’m having my friend Sebby here do it, while I watch. It’s going to hurt, I want this to last for several days at least. More fun that way.”

 

The man patted his cheek and left his line of vision, which, because of restraints, was directly up. He felt the needle push into his arm, and a knife of some sort cut down his leg.

 

It wasn't long until he was screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE END THERE IS MORE COMING I SWEAR!!!


	9. Finding Him Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they found him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pushes up trapdoor* *peeks out* *pushes chapter through the small crack* *disappears*

“Sir?”

Mycroft looked up from his CCTV footage and blinked slightly. How long had he been sitting in the same position?

“He’s awake, alert... and asking about Mr Holmes.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Send him in. He may know something. We need as much information as possible.” The other man nodded and went off again.

 

It wasn’t long until John walked into the room, glaring at him. “A week. They told me I’ve been asleep for a bloody week and you still haven’t found him. He’s out there with Sherlock, hurting him and no- I don’t know where. He- he drugged Sherlock with some... yellow substance and that’s all I saw before I fell asleep.” He slumped into a chair, obviously more exhausted than he was trying to let on, but more concerned about Sherlock than himself at the moment.

 

“I have been trying, John. He’s gone off radar, and we cannot track him.”

“Wouldn’t you have been keeping a track on him? After the last time he came into play?”

“Well, naturally, but he has thousands of bases across England-“

“He wanted to get onto Sherlock fast. That much I know. He was furious with him.”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John and thought for a moment.

“If he wanted access to him quickly...” He frowned, pulling up a map that was very familiar by now. “There are ten possible bases within a fifty mile radius. I can organise enough troops to storm them all at once so he won’t have any warning in case we’re at the wrong one. I’ll send you with the group that’s going to the most likely area.”

John looks up at him and nods, a tight lipped smile appearing on his lips, and Mycroft responds in kind.

 

“Give him hell for me, will you, John?”

“Absolutely.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“Oh _hello_ again, Sherly! You’re up just in time for the next act!”

 

Sherlock felt sick. He’d been here for... for... a really long time. There would be no hope of Mycroft finding him here... Where ever here was... He gasped out in pain as a needle was stabbed into his neck again. Oh God, what now?

 

His question was answered rather quickly as his stomach heaved painfully, its contents feeling like acid as they came out of his mouth. How much longer was this going to go on? He was in so much pain, he just wanted it all to go away.

 

_Please, God, let me die._

 

There was a gunshot, and Sherlock gasped, looking over himself quickly before his stomach heaved again. No, no wound on him. Then where... He looked up and watched Moriarty pressing down over his hip, blood pouring out over his fingers. The drug forced him to throw up again, but when he looked back, John had tackled Moriarty to the floor, and was –

 

John. His John, his John all normal again oh God he was going to be sick again.

Something was wrong, how could he be throwing this much up if he hadn’t eaten for several days?

“John...” he croaked, surprised at his own voice. It was small, hoarse and weak, and “John please...”

 

The other man looked up, swallowing thickly and nodding. They didn’t have time for a long revenge. Sherlock didn’t even blink as John shot the villain between the eyes. He was heaving again, and John was getting the shackles off, pulling him down and holding him.

 

He started coughing, vaguely noticing blood falling out of his mouth to the floor...

 

And the world went dark.


	10. Getting Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was... Yes, it was a hand, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look another update wow.

_He’s flat lining!_

_We need to flush him out!_

_He needs nutrients!_

_I’m sorry, we did everything we could._

_He may not wake._

_Come on mate, at least come grab a bite._

_Mycroft, I swear to god, don’t you fucking dare. You’ll regret it._

_I assure you it’s nothing of the sort._

_Sherlock... Sherlock please wake up. I can’t lose you again, I really can’t. Please I... I need you. I spent all that time without you and I can’t do that again._

_Blip.   Blip.   Blip.   Blip._

 

It was a... a... thing... He wasn’t sure what, but he could feel it. Oh, Ooh, he could feel more of it now. It wasn’t quite right though, almost as if it was too heavy. No, it wasn't too heavy. It was a hand, and someone was holding it. Holding his. Hand, that was.

 

Maybe he could... could... Oh but there was that lovely darkness... So tempting and warm and...

 

“Please, Sherlock. Don’t let him win.”

 

John.

 

“You need to beat him, you need to show him that you won’t be some idiot who could be overtaken by a few little cuts or drugs. God, please, Sherlock. Don’t let him win. Please... I need you back...”

 

Where had that hand gone. He had to find it again. If he found the hand, he could find John. There it was. He could do this, it was just moving, right? He’d done that lots of times in the past. He could move just this little bit.... There!

 

“Sherlock...?”

 

Yes, he could move his finger now. Now his other fingers were starting to move. If he just kept twitching them, focusing on John, he could get away from this blackness. It was keeping him from John. He just had to push through it.

 

“Oh God, Sherlock. Nurse! Doctor! Shit, where’s my phone, I need to get Mycroft...”

 

The other hand moved away and he panicked, somehow finding the strength to move all his fingers at once. The other hand grabbed his again quickly, and there was another hand... Maybe... Was that his head? He could feel something between him and the hand, which he could only assume was hair, so it had to be his head.

 

“Alright, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere. Just open your eyes for me, can you do that, please?”

 

He fought through the blackness for a few moments. He had to get back to John. After... After... A length of time, he found his eyes and after a bit longer he was able to push them open;

 

Where everything glared white.


	11. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can see his John again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY STAR WARS DAY EVERYONE!!!

The world settled back into place after a few minutes, and he could see John standing over him, beaming happily even though there were tears in his eyes. He tried to move his mouth, trying to talk to him but it wouldn’t move, not properly, not enough for words.

 

John ran a hand through his hair gently before reaching off to the side, coming back with a plastic cup. Water.

“Here we go, try and drink slowly. That’s it... God, I’m so happy to see you again.”

 

How did water taste so good? Had it always tasted so good? It felt wonderful going down his throat. As the cup moved away, Sherlock looked up at John again.

“Hello...” he managed softly, smiling up at the man. He was vaguely aware of other people moving around and checking things, but all he cared about was John.

 

“Hey, you. It’s good to have you back.”

“Could say the same... same... same about you.”

 

John laughed, and the sound sent butterflies flying from his heart to his toes. He smiled up at him again, but it was harder this time. John noticed and ran a hand over his cheek, ooh it felt so warm.

“Rest up, okay? I want you back in working order as soon as possible.”

 

That sounded like a good idea, he tried to nod, though had no idea if he actually succeeded or not. He closed his eyes and tightened his hand around John’s again. He loved John.

 

He heard a chuckle and John squeezed his hand. “I love you too.”

 

Oh. Had he said that out loud?

 

“Go to sleep, Sherlock.”

 

Hmmm, yes. That sounded like a good idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU!!


	12. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally tells John why...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS FOR STAR WARS DAY WOOO~!!!!!

After that, it only took Sherlock two weeks before he recovered. Well... Two weeks before he could stand... with crutches...and complained enough to get put into John’s care.

 

Every time he tried to stand for reasons other than going to the bathroom or to bed, John would push him back down. He would grumble and then John would kiss him and Sherlock would stop complaining.

 

He was sure that John was putting sleeping pills into the food he was forcing him to eat, or maybe even his tea, because he was always drifting off at the most odd times. John would say it was because he was still recovering but he knew better. He didn’t sleep unless he chose to, unless drugged.

 

But John would smile at him now, and he would laugh and hug him and kiss him and all these wonderful thing that Sherlock had thought would never happen, not after the fall.

 

“It was because he threatened to shoot you.” He murmured softly one night. They were laying on the couch together watching some stupid show with a blue box and a man with a bow tie and somehow the box was bigger on the inside even though that was impossible- he was getting off track again. That was happening a lot too.

 

“What do you mean, Sherls?”

 

“Why I jumped... I always told you it was because he had to be stopped... But he would’ve had you shot if I didn’t jump.”

 

“Oh...”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I know, Sherls. I love you.”

 

It was the first time John had said it as an adult. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile.

 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the end guys. I might write another chapter, I'm not sure. But... yeah...

**Author's Note:**

> Let me knw what you think??? XD Thanks for reading guys!


End file.
